


A Vagabond's Rescue

by petrichor3145



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Jeremy is Shy, Jeremy's Dad Loves Interfering in His Son's Life, Jeremy's in the Closet, M/M, Michael is a Vagabond, Multilingual Character, POV First Person, anxious character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichor3145/pseuds/petrichor3145
Summary: Michael is a lonely, homeless traveler who scrapes by in order to see the world. One day, he stumbles upon Jeremy Heere, a young man with very blue eyes and a meddling family who seems to decide that the friendly (albeit slightly dirty) man they're greeted with who takes naps in the middle of the day and eats burgers with silverware might just be the person their son's been waiting for.Michael and Jeremy themselves may need a bit more convincing.





	1. A Vagabond's Mistake

Mon dieu. 

I’m regretting the decision to make the trek through the highways already. The threat of rain looms over my head in dark clouds, amplifying the humidity and following me through my travels. Worst of all, though, not a single car has passed by for hours, much less stopped to give me a ride.

All my possessions are in the backpack around my shoulders: thousands in cash, light trinkets from other countries, my laptop and a charger, an (almost empty) bottle of water, packaged snacks, a piccolo, and a Japanese language book for the future. Not that I think I’ll get there anytime soon, though. I’m halfway across the world; New Jersey.

Of all the places I’ve ever been in my traveling “career,” the states have been the least eventful. Sure, they have their moments of big-city glamour, but the wide-open plains separating the smaller towns are painful to hike through, especially during summer.

Something catches my eye. I lift my head up, squinting. In the distance, a vague McDonald’s sign enters my view, the red and yellow blurring together from the heat waves, but real nonetheless. Thank humanity for America.

I dash quickly into the road, head whipping left at the last moment to catch an approaching car swerve out of my path. Jesus, where did that come from?

The car is cherry red, glinting dangerously as it roars. It slams into a tree with colossal speed, shaking the very roots of its prey. Leaves come thrashing to the ground in front of me. I stand frightened in place, paralyzed, watching the scene of destruction with amazement.

Suddenly, I realize there was a driver in there who just swerved into a tree to save me and I race to the car, surprised to find the car door open as I yank on it.

Inside is a young man. He has brown hair but unnaturally pale skin, clean in a way I haven’t had the chance to keep my own for months. His eyes are closed, presumably shock from the impact, and his face is peaceful.

I take him by the shoulders and ease him out of the car, compulsively checking for bruises as I go. I hope he doesn’t have a concussion because of me.

I slide my backpack off and rummage through supplies, finding my water bottle and splashing his face with it. If he did take a blow to the head, he shouldn’t be asleep right now. 

I gaze down at his innocent face, waiting for some response to come. My heart jumps when his eyes flutter open, revealing hazy, crystal-colored eyes. They’re dilated--not a good sign.

“Oh, grazie a Dio, you’re awake!” I say, pressing against him in a hug with an unrestrained smile.

The man turns stiff, and when I pull back, he looks disoriented. Oh, right. Americans aren’t touchy-feely types. “Who are you?” he asks in a sleep-addled voice.

I hold out my hand to him. I’ve introduced myself hundreds of times and in dozens of languages, but this is the first time I’ve owed that person my life. So I make it count. “Michael Mell, born and raised in Canada, dirt-poor vagabond since my senior year of high school. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

\---

The man gives me a stunned look for a second, almost in awe, before he reluctantly raises his hand. I shake it heartily. “Jeremy Heere,” he says, almost shyly.

“And where are you from, Jeremy Heere?” I ask.

He blushes. “Born and raised in New Jersey.”

I pull Jeremy up by his hand, catching a glint of red in the corner of my eye. Relinquishing my hold from him, I point to the car. There’s a huge dent in the front, its windows busted and airbags deployed. “That thing’s a goner,” I say.

Jeremy gives me a look. “I wonder why,” he says.

I can feel the blood rush to my face. Of course. This is my fault, after all. I give a start when he speaks again. “What were you doing in the middle of the road, anyway? Do you have a death wish?”

I rub the back of my neck guiltily. “Sorry, man. Nah, I thought I saw a McDonald’s across there, see, and I’ve been on the road for days now.”

“Don’t you have a home?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

I laugh. “I’m a vagabond, Jeremy, what do you think?”

Jeremy huffs and crosses his arms. “Well, you must earn money somehow.”

“I play an instrument in big cities sometimes. Piano or piccolo. Teach foreign languages or serve as a translator when I can, too. I’m more resourceful than you think, Jeremy,” I say with a grin.

He only turns away, opening the door of the disheveled car and ruffling through something. Peering over his shoulder, I find him assembling a pile of papers and a computer. He stuffs them in a briefcase, tugs the strap over his slender shoulders, and turns to me. “Well then, Mr. Vagabond,” he says, “you caused the death of Christine-”

“Christine?” I interrupt, and Jeremy glares at me and points to the car. 

“-Christine, and you’re going to pay the consequences. I’m late to a family dinner.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So?” I ask.

“So, you’re gonna get me there.”

\---

Jeremy is more pushy than I pegged him at first glance, and so (after a great deal of complaining) I agree to walk him to the next town over, Mauricetown.

We walk in silence. I usually make the most of company when I find it, but my mind is focused on the dark storm clouds brewing above us. The scent of a summer storm lingers in the air, hastening my step. Jeremy has started to trot along beside me, panting. It’s clear he’s unaccustomed to exercise.

Eventually, he says, “What are you looking at?”

I point to the sky. “Storm’s coming soon,” I say.

He follows my finger and winces when his eyes meet the sky. “Dad won’t be happy,” he mutters, eyes trained on the rapidly moving cumulonimbi.

I’m reminded of his earlier statement about dinner. “Your parents want you home for the weekend?” I ask, even though I have no idea what day it is.

Jeremy looks down, a sad smile gracing his face. “Just my dad, actually. Well, and his parents. They wanted a ‘family get-together.’”

Jeremy meets my eyes, forcing a smile. “Pitiful, right?” he says.

I shake my head, surprised. “Jeremy-” I begin, stopped by the feeling of a raindrop’s cool touch on my nose.

“Corre,” I say, breathlessly, and take his hand.

Together, we dash the rest of the way to that McDonald’s I saw earlier, pausing to catch our breaths as we lean on the building. By now, the rain is falling hard and fast, clinging tightly to my clothes, my glasses, my hair. Jeremy takes the lead after our break, for some unfathomable reason still holding on to my hand, and we cross a street (thankfully, devoid of any obnoxious red cars named Christine) to be greeted by a small, friendly, and rather unassuming house.

Jeremy wastes no time on pleasantries, jamming a key from his pocket into the lock and bursting open the door, pulling me in first in a surprising show of strength from his lanky frame. He pulls the key from the lock and jerks himself inside, then, slamming the door as if it had affronted him personally.

He whips his head back and forth to rid his dark hair of wetness in a motion which is almost catlike. Chuckling silently, I remove my shoes and take in the new surroundings.

There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, simple and inexpensive but beautiful nonetheless. The rest of the house is much the same, books filed on dusty shelves and pictures of a young boy who is probably Jeremy hanging neatly from otherwise barren walls. Thing is, everything looks amazing when you sleep on the side of the road half your life.

I look back at Jeremy just in time to catch him gesture at me to follow him upstairs. I carefully set down my backpack and bound up the steps myself, wondering all the while why Jeremy invited me into his dad’s house in the first place.

When we reach the top of the staircase, right in front of a door, Jeremy wheels around to face me. His face is fretful. “Look,” he whispers, leaning in close to me, “I can’t leave you out there by yourself. Just--tell them you’re homeless and you need a place to stay for a little and I’m sure everything will be-”

Jeremy is cut off by the creaking open of the door in front of us. A short old man peers at us through cataract spectacles. He just stands there for a moment, during which Jeremy leans away from me, face red. I inwardly face-palm.

Suddenly, the man yells in a loud voice, “Bob! Come quick! Your son’s turned into a pansy!”

Jeremy’s expression is mortified, his cheeks burning. When he looks to me in shock, I offer him a grin. “Does this mean that this vagabond can stay the night, Jer-Bear?” I ask.

Jeremy’s spluttering is all the response I need.


	2. A Vagabond's Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael suffers through an awkward family dinner and learns more about Jeremy.

In the midst of Jeremy’s embarrassment, a man of middle age approaches us. He looks a lot like Jeremy, only less put-together. Smiling broadly, he pats me on the shoulder. “I see you brought a boyfriend, son,” he tells Jeremy.

Jeremy says, “He--he’s not-”

“Come on in, boys, dinner will be ready soon. Have a seat! I want to hear all about my son’s adult life,” says Jeremy’s father.

Jeremy looks at me warily. Before I can run inside the kitchen with the eagerness of someone who hasn’t eaten real food for days, he pulls me back by my shoulder. “Look,” he says, “We’re gonna get this cleared up. I can’t have my family thinking I’m dating a--a bum.”

I tilt my head at him. “I’m highly educated, Jeremy. Surely that’s good enough for you?” I ask.

Jeremy looks down, conflicted. He mutters, “That’s not the problem.”

“What is, then?”

“My dad doesn’t know I’m gay, and I plan to keep it that way.” I have to lean in to hear him.

I laugh. “He seemed pretty keen on me a second ago, Jeremy. He totally found out at some point.”

Jeremy flinches. He’s hunched over, looking more and more like he doesn’t want to be here at all. I take pity on him and say, “Look, man. All I need’s a shower and a place to stay for the night. In the morning, you can tell them I’m a bad guy and ran off. Is that okay?”

Jeremy looks into my eyes hesitantly, searching them for a moment. Finally, he gives a single sharp nod and I can’t help but smile brightly at him. “Let the eating begin!” I shout, dragging him by the hand through the open door to paradise.

\---

The food is as good, no, better than expected. Coffee and lemonade, chicken, burgers, tuna salad, potatoes, every food I’ve woken up thinking about in the dead of night lines the table. I stare at it hungrily, only just holding onto manners.

Just as I’m digging in to the burger with my fork, four sets of eyes fix on me. “Is something wrong?” I ask, politely.

Jeremy elbows me and whispers in my ear, “Who in their right mind eats burgers with a fork?”

I look down at my meal, then to everyone else. Oh, right. A bad habit I picked up from the Netherlands. I swallow the forkful before setting my silverware down carefully and picking the burger up with my hands. Jeremy’s father clears his throat and asks, “So, where are you from, Mr… ?”

“Michael Mell, at your service,” I say and reach across the table to shake his hand. 

“I’m from Canada, but I’ve been all over. Europe, Asia, you know. All over.”

An old lady across the table smiles and claps her hands together. “So you’re a traveler, then! You must be rich!”

I lean back in my seat, chuckling nervously. “I get by.”

“How long have you known Jeremy?” asks his dad.

“Um,” I start, glancing at Jeremy for a split second, “about three months, maybe? We just clicked as soon as we met.”

Jeremy’s dad sends him a chastising look. “And you didn’t tell me? I’m your father!”

Jeremy looks at me hopelessly and says, “I wasn’t--um--ready to tell you. About, you know.”

He makes a vague hand gesture at me. “Son, you know I would accept you no matter who you are!” his dad says.

Jeremy looks away with an expression almost akin to disgust. “I know, dad,” he says quietly.

Jeremy is silent for the rest of the meal, quietly seething.

\---

“What was that about?” I ask later, when he’s leading me to a spare bedroom.

Jeremy gives me a sidelong glance. “He thinks he knows me. I’ve never told him anything since--since mom left.”

He says the last part quietly, and I come to a silent epiphany. “She’s dead?” I ask.

Jeremy turns fully to look at me, now, and his eyes are shocked. “What? No! She left my dad because he was too pathetic to keep her around.”

Jeremy pauses from walking, his eyes locked on me for a second before they drop again. He mumbles, “And maybe I wasn’t enough for her, either,” and resumes his stride.

I don’t have anything to say. How do you comfort an almost-stranger in a tough family situation? Answer is, you don’t.

Jeremy stops at the end of the hall, gesturing to an oak door. “You sleep here,” he says, and starts to walk away.

I impulsively grab him by the hand before he can walk away. “Hey,” I say, “Thanks for letting me stay the night. I owe you one.”

Jeremy turns back around. He’s wearing a pleased smile. The sight makes my chest warm, just a little. “It’s not a problem, Michael Mell,” he says, briefly touches my arm, and walks away.

I enter the room smiling. Who knew almost getting run over would score me shelter for the night and a cute guy’s friendship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was the second chapter! It's basically just some development for Jeremy's character and some bonding time for Michael and Jeremy. Sorry it was so short, but the next one will probably be longer. Thanks for reading!


	3. A Vagabond's Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has a nightmare and can't fall back asleep. He leaves Jeremy's dad's house and unexpectedly finds an old... friend of his.

_“Next,” a voice calls in a British accent. ___

____

____

_A prison guard pounds a stamp into the ink and marks me with the number “4185223.” It’s gray. The ceiling is gray. The walls are gray. Everything is gray, with the sole exception of my orange prison garments. What did I do to end up here?_

__

__

_I can’t remember a thing. I eat meal after meal, a single slice of bread and a frozen carton of milk, day after day after day._

__

__

_The slamming of prison doors never ends. The torture continues until I can’t sleep at night, I can’t eat, I can’t move. Even the heartless guards look at each other helplessly when I don’t respond to their calls._

__

__

_I don’t deserve to be in here. That’s the only thing I still know. And yet, my hell continues. ___

__

__

__

__

\---

I wake up gasping. My head is throbbing painfully, so much so that I can’t remember where I am. India, Ghana, Luxembourg? My eyes dart around in the dark and I search with my hand for a light source. Finding the cool handle of a lamp, I turn it on and my eyes are suddenly engulfed in dim light.

Beside the bed is a photo of a teenaged Jeremy. The memories come back to me of trekking through New Jersey and Christine and biting rain and secret smiles and staying the night, and I remember what I’m doing here.

I sit up and kick off the covers, overheated. I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed and I can’t even enjoy it. My mouth is too dry and my memories are too strong and my head is screaming one word: alcohol.

Quietly, I slip off the bad. My feet land on the ground with a soft thump. Maybe if I can just sneak out for a beer and then head back here, my head will shut up.

I tiptoe down the hall, ear strained for noises. At one point, I think I hear the creaking of a door, but it’s gone in a second. I figure I must be overly paranoid and ease myself down the stairs, grabbing my bag as I walk out the door.

I walk around aimlessly for a while, searching for a bar, until I locate a building with a sign in the front, entitled, “Drinker Heaven.”

Digging for cash in my backpack, I walk inside. It’s a warm place, with scented candles and old wood and armchairs, and a few drunkards are sharing stories over a game of chess. It’s a comfy bar.

The bartender is a short, stocky man with boxy red hair and icy blue eyes. He’s a stranger, but somehow I feel like I’ve seen him before. A shiver runs down my spine.

The man reacts to seeing me, too. His eyes widen a fraction and he pauses from pouring a drink to openly stare at me. “What would you like, sir?” he asks, withdrawing his hands to his pockets and narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously.

His voice. I remember that voice. It’s an Irish lilt, deep and nasal. With a jolt, I recognize him. This is the man who handed me a bloody knife and ran.

“Sir?” he says. I blink and the scene of the bar returns. I can almost remember those eyes, tortured by hysteria, hands covered in blood and twitching erratically. I turn to run.

The man grabs me roughly by the wrist and barks, “Wait.”

He drags me, pushing and kicking, down a set of stairs and away from the stares of the old men who were joking and drinking. To my despair, they turn back to their games as I move out of view.

He tugs me into a wine cellar. It would be impressive, except that I’m scared out of my mind. A cruel glint flashes in his eyes. “Why aren’t you in prison?” he growls.

I flinch with my entire body, ripping my wrist from his grasp. The force pushes me back a few steps. “You framed me for murder. You killed a man, and I almost had to pay the consequences,” I hiss, “but they knew it wasn’t me.”

I take cruel delight in watching the man’s face contort into a scowl. “How?” he demands.

“Well, after you pinned the murder on me and ran, they still had to prove I did it. Stuck me in jail while they figured it out. So, a few weeks later, I got sick, and they took a blood test to figure out what I had. And guess what else they found.”

The man pales. I continue with a smirk, “My blood is O-positive. The victim’s blood was B-positive. And yours? They found it on the knife and in the corpse. It was B-negative. Cut yourself on that edge by accident?” The man glowers at me.

“That, coupled with the testimony of a businessman who saw a redhead with blood on his clothes slinking around town, was enough to get me released.”

I feel a rush of giddiness when the man steps back, stunned. That is, until he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pistol.

It’s black and smooth and deadly, glinting sharply in the dimly lit wine cellar. Still, it shakes. The man’s hands are shaking, either in nervousness or rage I can’t tell. The barrel of the gun is pointed straight towards my face.

“Whoa,” I say, much too quietly, “No--no need to kill me.”

The man’s face twists into a crooked smile. “Oh, believe me, I want to,” he says, “Mallacht Dé ort,” and then I hear the click of the gun. It sends my entire body into shutdown mode, my brain blank, my heartbeat stopped.

And then I hear a voice. It says, “Michael!”

I guess I’ll never know how it feels to be pierced by a bullet moving at the speed of sound because suddenly somebody tackles me to the ground, and it’s like my head is submerged from water and I can breathe again.

It’s Jeremy. I’m dumbstruck for a moment, staring at him with shock and getting back an equal amount of determination. He hauls me up with little support on my part and drags me back up the creaky, wooden staircase.

He’s the one who takes my hand, limp and unresponsive, and leads me out of the building and away, away, away, from the dangers which lie there.

We walk to the other side of town, Jeremy coaxing and cooing softly, “Come on, you can do it,” and, “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

We sit down beside a large, flat building. I distantly note that it’s still dark out. The moon and the streetlights are the only things apart from starlight that led us here. I notice the moon is a mere crescent in the sky, incomparable to the depths of the galaxy. I focus on how small I am, how big it must be. It’s easier than remembering right now. Anything is.

But Jeremy seems to have a different opinion. He takes my hand and I look to him. Despite his words of comfort, he’s shaking and wide-eyed, his nervous features bathed in pale orange light. His eyes are a much different shade of blue than the other man’s, I notice. More kind. I doubt that man has any kindness to begin with.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, even his voice trembling like a leaf. He must think I’m weird, being this calm after what just happened.

“You,” I answer, because it’s true, I am.

He looks down at our hands, intertwined, and slowly slips his hand away, as if he didn’t intend to do it in the first place. A thought strikes me. “Did you follow me?” I ask. How else would he know where I was?

Jeremy blushes. “I’m sorry, I just--I was curious,” he says, pauses for a second, and tacks on, “and maybe a little worried, too.”

“You--you pushed me out of the way of a bullet,” I say, laughing in disbelief. “And he hadn’t even fired it yet!”

Jeremy chuckles a bit himself, in the relieved way someone does after going through a life-altering experience. “Yeah, guess I did.”

My thoughts are interrupted by the rustling of the trees. I feel myself tense, shoulders and jaw becoming tight. Looking around the darkness, paranoid, I realize something.

“Jeremy,” I start, and he looks at me, “I can’t stay in this town. Just--how much did you hear, earlier?”

“Just the--the click of a gun,” he says, eyes focusing on the ground, shoulders drawing in.

“Okay,” I say, “okay. I just-”

“I get it,” Jeremy interrupts, looking up at me earnestly, “I really do. You travel, that’s what you do.”

He doesn’t give me time to correct him as he continues, “Just… how about you stay at my place for awhile?”

I’m stunned. Nobody has ever, ever asked me to come stay with him before. It’s always been the other way around. As I scan Jeremy’s face for deception, though, I find myself trusting him. Jeremy is gazing at me with big, hopeful, blue eyes, and really, he’s saved me twice now. I really don’t have a choice but to trust him.

“Okay,” I say, and the happiness on his face is worth the answer.

“Great, I’m so--I mean, that’s cool,” Jeremy says, stifling his excitement with a cough.

He pauses and frowns. “Only… my car is broken. How are we gonna get home?”


	4. A Vagabond's Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has a tense talk with Jeremy's dad. Can they reach an understanding, or will a father's instincts overpower a traveler's good intentions?

We walk to Jeremy’s dad’s house together. I would be disappointed I didn’t end up getting any alcohol, but I find that Jeremy’s a good enough substitute. “Hey dude, what do you do for a job?”

Jeremy responds, “Software developer. I’m good with tech and stuff.” He says this with quelled pride.

“Does that mean you can hack?” I ask, envisioning Jeremy sitting in a dark basement and laughing maniacally to himself.

Jeremy looks horrified. “I would _never _!” he yells.__

__I nudge him on the shoulder. “But _can _you?”_ _ __

__

__

__He looks stubbornly up at the stars, pouting. “Maybe.”_ _

__“ _Oh my god _! You’re so cool, dude! If I could hack, I’d, like, infiltrate the national database and mess with people’s names and stuff!”_ _ __

__

__

__Jeremy is still sticking his nose up resolutely at the sky. “Immature,” he says._ _

__I poke his puffed-out cheek. He recoils like I burnt him, incredulously meeting my eyes and touching his cheek where I poked it. I can only smile and wink at him. He stares at me for a few seconds, stunned into silence, apparently._ _

__Then Jeremy looks away, huffing out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says._ _

__“I’ll take that as a compliment, my friend,” I joke._ _

__We walk like that, laughing and jibing all the way to the house. I don’t know if it’s just because he’s saved me twice now, but I find it easy to talk to Jeremy. In every place I’ve been, I’ve never met someone quite as shy and snarky and stuffy as him. With every word, I can tell he’s getting more and more comfortable around me, and I love the feeling._ _

__“Dude, I still can’t get over the fact that you _named your car Christine _.”_ _ __

__

__

__“Shut up, Mell, she was my lifeblood. I can’t believe you killed her.”_ _

__I couldn’t hide my giggling if I tried. “Okay, okay, I know. We should hold a funeral for her.”_ _

__Jeremy nods stoically. “And you’ll do the honors of burying her.”_ _

__“Dude, I already wrote her eulogy in my head. ‘ _In honor of one of the best goddamn cars I’ve ever known. Also the reddest _.’”_ _ __

__

__

__Suddenly, Jeremy grabs my arm and shushes me, gesturing in front of us to his dad’s house. Whispering, he says, “Okay, we need to be super quiet. My dad will flip if he knows I’m out this late.”_ _

__I balk at him. “Dude, you’re an adult,” I protest._ _

__Jeremy grimaces and bites out, “I know,” pushing his key in the door handle and opening the door. The room is already engulfed in light._ _

__“Too late,” Jeremy whispers, going pale (well, more pale than usual)._ _

__We tiptoe up the steps and peer into the kitchen. I find myself flooded with childish fear when Jeremy’s dad, looking at us sternly, enters my vision. He's sitting at the kitchen table, tapping his foot in a steady, apprehensive rhythm._ _

__“Well, well,” Jeremy’s dad says, “where do you boys think you’ve been?”_ _

__Jeremy hunches over, eyebrows furrowing. “Um… nowhere, dad,” he tries._ _

__His dad doesn’t look convinced. “I want you in bed, _right now _,” he commands._ _ __

__

__

__Jeremy opens his mouth to protest, but chickens out and closes it in the face of his dad’s hard look. After a moment of indecision, he sends me one last furtive glance and gives up, trudging away defeatedly, head hung low._ _

__I’m left alone in the room with his dad. He’s not particularly tall or threatening, but the man’s stony face focused on me is enough to make me stand a little straighter. Something about a protective father’s general look, I guess._ _

__“What were you and my son doing outside in the middle of the night?” he asks, which, fair question._ _

__“Uhm…” I can’t very well tell him the truth, that his son could have been shot tonight. It’s a chilling thought, even for me. A supposedly heartless vagabond, caring if somebody lives or dies? Now, there’s a thought. But against all odds, I’d be lying if I said that awkward voice and playful sass hadn’t gotten to me. Well, they did. Obviously, or I wouldn’t feel so nervous right now, staring down his dad._ _

__He interrupts my spiraling thoughts, saying, “Actually, I think I’ve got the gist of it.”_ _

__“You do?” And I can’t help but wonder if he _knows _, knows who I am. All I’ve been._ _ __

__

__

__“You two were making out,” he says, and _wow _, that escalated quickly._ _ __

__

__

__“N—No! We didn’t!” I stutter out, because that is some image for him to put in my head. God, I might not be able to get any sleep tonight. Actually, I should have stopped hoping when I was held at gunpoint, but still. _Jeremy kissing me _._ _ __

__

__

__He raises an eyebrow in a look which has no right to be that skeptical, given how wrong he is._ _

__“I, um, I… couldn’t sleep, so I went outside,” I say, every word fighting to escape me, “and he followed me ‘cause he wanted to know where I was going.”_ _

__Okay, that was good. The best lies have a grain of truth, as they say. Jeremy’s dad looks a little less angry at that, too. His face becomes almost sympathetic. “Insomnia?” he asks._ _

__For the first time, I study his face objectively. He looks a lot like Jeremy, sure, but with dark circles under his brown eyes. All at once, I understand where his empathy is coming from._ _

__I shake my head shyly, wanting to tell the truth. “Nightmares,” I say._ _

__He snorts. When I whip my head up to look at him, surprised, he explains, “Jeremy used to have them a lot, too. I’m sure he’s already told you this, but his mom left me not too long ago. About four years.”_ _

__He doesn’t look spiteful, like Jeremy, only resigned. Like he had known she would leave, but let her go anyway. I feel a sudden surge of anger towards him. Why couldn’t he have kept her for his son’s sake?_ _

__Jeremy’s dad opening his mouth to speak interrupts my thoughts. As if having read them, he says, “There was nothing I could do. If she’d stayed, her resentment towards me and, more importantly, Jeremy, would only have grown.”_ _

__Oh. I nod my head slowly. My parents love each other and me. I visit them at regular intervals of the year. Logically, I have no idea what it’s like for Jeremy to have a parent who doesn’t care enough about him even to have him visit on occasion, to just pack her bags and leave. That doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t ache to think about it. “I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say._ _

__Jeremy’s dad smiles tiredly. “I know,” he says._ _

__I sense that we’ve come to an understanding and stand up to leave. As I do, though, Jeremy’s dad says, “Michael.”_ _

__I turn back around to look at him. He looks spirited. “You’re a good man for my son, Michael. I have to admit, I never thought he would openly take a boyfriend with him, he’s always been shy with that, but you really care about him. So thank you.”_ _

__I don’t know why that makes me so happy. My chest feels warm and I beam at him. “Thank you, too, Mr. Heere,” I say, and reach my arm out to shake his hand a second time—this time as a friendly gesture and not a necessity._ _

__He stands up, too, and we shake hands. His grip is less firm. My eyes travel idly down and I gasp at what I see, yanking my hand away. “ _Why aren’t you wearing pants_?!”_ _

__

__

__Jeremy’s dad only laughs._ _

__\---_ _

__The next day, we get ready to travel back to Jeremy’s town. I give him a spare pair of walking shoes, roughed up and torn, but still better than his flip-flops for treading ground. We agree to take turns carrying his suitcase, which has most of the work he needs to get done inside. It turns out to be freakishly heavy._ _

__Jeremy says his goodbyes to his family, shaking their hands one-by-one. As it turns out, he’s not really a hugging kind of person. He walks up to bid farewell to his dad last. Thankfully, he’s wearing pants for the send-off. The two exchange a few hushed words, glancing at me a few times. When Jeremy steps back, he has a satisfied expression, and I find myself relieved._ _

__Then Jeremy’s dad walks over to me with a grin and pats me on the back harshly, saying, “I’m gonna miss you, step-son. You two come back again soon, now!”_ _

__Jeremy’s face turns red, as it is wont to do, and he grabs my hand, tugging me away from his laughing father. “Let’s _go_ , Michael,” he says._ _

__

__

__I chuckle and wave to his relatives, and we set off, walking towards the glaring sun. It's rising, but still low in the sky as we start our journey. The fresh morning air and lingering wetness on the shrubs are the only signs of yesterday afternoon’s storm. It had breezed through aggressively, but shockingly quickly._ _

__Jeremy and I pace through the town, poking fun and stopping to admire a shop window or oddly-shaped tree every so often._ _

__It’s a common misconception that I need to move in order to be happy. After all, I am a traveler. But that’s not true. I just go wherever my instincts take me. And right now, my instincts are telling me to get to know this clumsy and nerdy man better. Even if I don’t know why, I’m going to follow them._ _

__I break out in laughter at another of Jeremy’s jokes._ _


	5. A Vagabond's Horrific Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy makes it home, accompanied by Michael. Unfortunately, someone else is there, too, and he's not as welcoming as he may seem.

“So I told him, I was just like, ‘No, I wouldn’t have anywhere to put it!’”

Jeremy laughs, the sound a little airy and smothered. My chest swells with pride anyway. “What happened then?” he asks.

“Well, I-”

I’m interrupted by the sound of a ringing phone. Its ringtone is some heavy metal tune I don’t recognize with a shouting vocalist. I hear him mutter, “Goddamnit, Rich,” under his breath, before fishing it from his back pocket and pressing the answer key.

“Hello?” he asks, shooting me a look that says can you believe this guy?

He changes his tune, though, at something the other person says. His eyes widen and he says, “What, no! Right now? Where am I?”

Jeremy shoots me a panicked look, which I return with an amused shrug. He gives me a scalding hot glare. Fear shoots through me for a second before I realize it’s directed towards the person on the phone. “I’m not your freaking property, Mr. I-Can’t-Do-Anything-Myself!”

I’ve never seen Jeremy look this angry before. Sure, he was withdrawn around his dad, but not this outwardly hateful. Jeremy’s hands are clenched around the phone so tightly they’ve gone white and he’s staring directly at the phone as if repulsed by the person speaking. He’s waiting on edge, listening with deaf ears.

I make a split-second decision. Just as Jeremy is about to growl out a response, I take the phone right out of his hands. He’s too shocked to resist.

I figure that since I took the phone, I should now follow the rational course of action and put the phone to my ear. By now, Jeremy and I have both stopped walking. I see him marvel at me from the corner of my eye. “Are you still there? Jeremy, think about what you’re doing!” says a voice, muffled through the phone but authoritative.

“What’s up?” I ask, as Jeremy is making wild gestures for me to stop talking, now. I ignore them.

The voice says, “Who are you? A family member? Why did he give you the phone?”

Jeremy’s anger at the voice is getting easier to understand by the second. “I’m, uh… his boyfriend?”

I look helplessly at Jeremy; I can’t exactly tell him I’m some street urchin who got him in a car crash, now, can I? Jeremy slaps his hand over his face, ducking his head. From what I can see of it, his face is red. 

There’s a silence on the other line where all I can hear is fuzzy stillness. I can sense the waves of disapproval hitting me through the speaker. Eventually, the man on the other end says, “Since when?”

He sounds incredulous, almost disbelieving. I’m not sure how well Jeremy knows this guy, and the covered face look he’s sporting isn’t helping any. “Uhm, a couple weeks?” I venture.

The voice on the line snorts. “Typical,” he says, voice heavy with humorless mirth, “can’t keep a guy more than a month.”

On Jeremy’s behalf, I find myself annoyed. “Excuse me, who are you?” I ask. This jerk can’t possibly be anyone important, can he?

 

The voice wastes no time in shouting, “I’m his roommate, for your information, and he was supposed to be back to do the chores hours ago!”

“Well, too-freakin’-bad, my friend, he’s gonna be a little late. You wanna know why? Because he got in a car crash! I think you can wait for your clean dishes a little longer, don’t you?” I tell him.

The next thing I hear is a soft click, and I whip the phone from my ear to discover he’s ended the call. “Typical,” I mutter, echoing him from earlier and tossing the phone carelessly back to Jeremy, who fumbles a little before catching it.

“What did he say?” he asks nervously.

I raise a brow at his restless fidgeting, but respond, “Nothing you have to worry about, my dude. Some people have no respect.”

Jeremy smiles at my words, humming in agreement. “Try living with him for, like, two years. It gets old, fast.”

“Hesukristo, how’d you put up with him so long?” I ask in disbelief.

Jeremy shrugs. “The rent is cheap.”

He says that, but he’s gazing at the sky with a faraway look in his eyes, and I somehow doubt his words are the whole truth. Suddenly curious, I ask, “What’s his name?”

Jeremy, surprisingly, laughs at the question, breaking out of the mood he’d slipped into. Between giggles, he manages, “Sebastian Quinton Ulmer Ian Platford.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re not kidding? He has three middle names?” I ask, and get an insistent nod accompanied by another round of giggles from Jeremy.

“How?”

“I wish I knew.”

I take a moment to think, reaching a genius conclusion. “Bro, SQUIP!”

Jeremy crinkles his eyebrows in confusion, eyes still sparkling with amusement. “Uh, what?” he asks, grinning.

I gesture to invisible letters in the air as I say, “An acronym for each of his names!”

Jeremy looks doubtful. “That kinda sounds like a robot name, man. I’ve always called him Sebastian.”

I scoff at his simplicity. “That sounds too fancy! Besides, it sounds cooler to call him Squip.”

Jeremy play-punches me. “I guess,” he says, thoughtful.

We continue walking through the highway, undeterred. I don’t know this state well, but Jeremy’s looking at the signs to make sure we’re going the right direction. The sun is reaching its high point in the sky, flushing us with cruel waves of heat. Jeremy is sweating like a pig under his gray, long-sleeved shirt, and I’d wager a guess I am, too.

We stop at a gas station. Jeremy scurries towards the building like a man in the desert would for water, leaning against it and panting under the shade. “I… don’t know… how you do this, man. It’s like ninety degrees out here, God!”

I grin, for once feeling proud of my day-to-day life habits. “Practice makes perfect,” I parrot, and Jeremy nudges my foot with his own where I’ve come up to stand beside him.

“Come on, Jer, it’s cooler inside,” I say.

Jeremy gives me an odd look, face going a shade darker. His pretty blue eyes widen just a fraction, before he just nods and says, “Yeah. Of course.”

I nudge his shoulder as we walk inside, relishing the cool air which blasts my face when we enter. My sweat suddenly feels cold against my skin, and I welcome the feeling while it lasts. Jeremy, on my left, shivers a little. “Do you have cash?” I ask him.

Jeremy nods wordlessly and pulls out his wallet. “I think some water sounds nice,” he murmurs, still out of breath.

“Amen to that,” I respond, chucking the empty bottle I used to resuscitate Jeremy in the trash. It’s actually hot. Like, fuming.

\---

We eventually head back into the great outdoors, pleased to find the sun lower in the clouds than we left it.

After another hour or two of walking, Jeremy cranes his neck and points to something in the distance, giving a relieved smile. “We’re almost home,” he says.

I don’t correct his inclusion of me in his statement, instead choosing to heave a sigh and lean against the back of his neck. “Took us long enough,” I say.

Jeremy shrugs me off. “Stop that, I’m tired enough already,” he says, but he’s still grinning. The giddiness of seeing civilization after a walk in the middle of nowhere never fails to deliver.

Then Jeremy’s expression drops and he furrows his brow in thought. “You know,” he remarks, “I’ve never been this happy to be going home before.”

And he looks at me, searching. And then his lips quirk up, a heartstopping smile which makes me miss a step, even though we’re on stable ground, and he says, “Thanks, Michael.”

I look away to hide my embarrassment, muttering, “Anytime, anytime.”

\---

As soon as Jeremy gives one knock on the door, Mr. Squip jerks it open.

He’s a man about Jeremy’s age with swooped-back black hair and very white skin, oddly reminiscent of Keanu Reeves. Unlike Keanu, though, he looks like the kind of guy who’s perpetually angry. He crosses his arms and looks down at Jeremy with a scowl. “Look who finally showed up, huh? No one likes people who are late.” This is said in a patronizing, almost sarcastic tone.

Jeremy puts on a scowl to match Squip’s and clenches his fists, shouldering his way into the apartment and softly mumbling something like, “I don’t need… reminder.” I’m left standing awkwardly outside the door, wondering what I should do.

Squip turns to me with a cocked eyebrow. For the first time, I notice his clothes. He’s wearing a suave black suit, something like for a dinner party. Just who is this man?

He says, “So, I’m assuming you’re the one from my phone call earlier?”

I hesitate. I was pretty angry when I told him off, but… “Yeah. Sorry about… what I said.”

Squip nods and schools his face into a polite expression, extending a hand. “My name’s Sebastian,” he says.

I take his hand to shake, still suspicious. Why is he being so polite? When my hand grasps his, though, to my shock, it’s ice-cold. “Michael,” I say, trying to disguise my surprise.

Squip (as I will continue to refer to him) smirks, almost as if he knows the reason for my discomfort. Then he steps to the side and bows lightly, as a butler would to for his master. “Come inside. You’re Jeremy’s lover, right?” he asks.

I feel my cheeks get hot and hurriedly step inside to hide it. “Yeah. Sure.”

Jeremy is sitting on the couch, anxiously twiddling his thumbs. When he hears my footsteps, he jumps and looks at me like a deer in headlights, then recognizes me and relaxes. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, of course!” Jeremy says with a high-pitched chuckle.

“Jeremy, if you don’t want me to stay here, you can tell me to go,” I offer him, feeling my heart plummet.

Jeremy waves his hands back and forth and says, “No, no, that’s not it!” Then his shoulders slump and his eyes drop back to the couch, and he says with some difficulty, “I like you, Michael.”

My heart starts pounding harder, knocking the air from my lungs.

“And I don’t want you out on the street,” Jeremy continues. He looks troubled.

“But…” Jeremy pauses and his eyes jump to where Squip is standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes and sighing loudly every so often.

“Is it the money? ‘Cause I promise I can support myself… Or, or you don’t have room? Your roommate doesn’t want me here?”

Squip shouts from the kitchen, “I’d be fine with your little boytoy, Jeremy!”

Jeremy makes a noise of frustration, standing and gesturing to me. “Follow me,” he says.

We walk down a hallway. After a few moments, Jeremy ducks into one of the rooms, pulling me in after him. When we’re situated on the bed with the door firmly closed, he says, “Look, Michael. I promise you, you don’t want to stay here.” His voice holds a desperate undertone.

I furrow my brows. “Why not?”

With shaking hands, Jeremy pulls up his sleeves, eyes not leaving my face the whole time. His arms are slowly revealed. At the same time, my heart stops.

Because they’re covered in bruises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It think I'm going to introduce Brooke and Chloe in the next chapter, just to give Michael a different perspective for the situation. Suggestions for the grand scheme of the plot are still encouraged, though!


	6. A Vagabond's Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael doesn't know how to help, but maybe bartender Chloe Valentine can give him some much-needed info.

I can’t take my eyes off his arms, marred by years of abuse. “Who… no. I know who it was,” I say, connecting the dots and standing up, ready to punch something.

Or preferably, someone.

I only tear my eyes away from the bruises when one arm rushes to grab mine. I look into Jeremy’s pleading eyes. “No,” he begs, “you can’t do this. I have nowhere else to go, I—please, just leave.”

“You want me to leave, after what you just showed me?” I ask, careful to keep my volume low. I hope Jeremy doesn’t hear the tremble in my voice.

Jeremy flinches away, crumpling into himself. “I—I didn’t know, at first, he seemed nice enough, I never thought he’d do—do this,” he says, voice and breath quickening when he holds his arms in full view. A strangled sob emerges from his lips and Jeremy ducks to hide his expression from me. But I’ve seen enough.

I don’t know, I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never been in a situation like this. But I can’t just stand here, doing nothing while he suffers. And if I can’t punch the son of a bitch, then the least I can do is get Jeremy out of this place for a while. Or for forever.

“Jeremy, we’re gonna go,” I say softly, carefully. He peeks his eyes out from the pillow he’d stuffed his face into, trying to control his erratic breaths, and manages to squeak out a tiny “What?”

“I said, we’re going now. We’re gonna leave this place and have a good time somewhere else,” I say, desperate not to lose him here, after he’d trusted me enough to show me his arms.

Jeremy’s eyes widen. “No, no, I can’t… he won’t let me leave after all these months and—”

“Not forever,” I interrupt quickly, “just for now. Come on, I won’t let him hurt you.”

Jeremy’s hair is stuck to his tear-stained cheeks and he’s clutching his pillow like a lifeline, but he slowly allows me to drag him out of bed and set him on his feet. I’ve never seen him look so vulnerable and childlike. “Ready to go?” I ask him calmly, trying to set him at ease.

He nods almost microscopically and I usher him out of his room and down the hall. I can’t help but notice that the whole house feels like it’s lacking something, that personal touch which normally makes a house feel like a home. I mean, not that I know much about houses, but. The walls are barren and white, the carpet sags under my feet, the lights feel untamed and harsh.

Everything about this place oozes plainness. It’s hard for me to imagine anyone smiling in here, let alone the shy boy next to me who’s been bullied and abused and whose smiles are warmer than this shitty apartment is during summer.

But then Squip turns around in the kitchen, holding a knife he was washing a second before and sneering callously, and I remember. This guy’s probably the reincarnation of a shark.

“Where are you two lovebirds off to?” Squip asks, wielding the knife in a vaguely threatening position.

Jeremy doesn’t meet Squip’s eyes when he mutters, “Dinner.”

“Oh?” the Squip replies, unfazed, “Well, just make sure you’re back by nine p.m. Wouldn’t want to bother your boyfriend for too long with your company.”

My blood is boiling. “Okay, that’s it, you piece of shit—” I growl and raise my fist at him, ready to take a swing to his face.

Jeremy stops me though, and I go lax as soon as I feel his hand on my shoulder from behind me. “Bye, see you soon!” he shrieks and pulls me out the door behind him. The last image I see is Squip’s dumb face looking mostly frightened and a little smug. I wish I were still close enough to knock him out.

“What were you doing?” Jeremy hisses as soon as the door is shut.

I rub the back of my head sheepishly. I don’t regret trying to punch him, exactly, but I do regret causing the face Jeremy is making right now. “Sorry,” I bite out, “I guess my temper got the best of me.”

Jeremy sighs anxiously. “He’s gonna be mad,” he says, voice tight with tension and slick as water on a windowsill.

“Don’t cry,” I say dumbly, my instincts getting the best of me. “I mean, uh, he’ll probably take his anger out on me instead?”

Jeremy doesn’t look very comforted by the thought. In fact, his brows knit even tighter together and his fingers fly as he undoes the sewing job on his shirt. “Let’s just—not talk about this anymore,” he finally says, a smart decision if not a bit of a copout.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

We walk in silence for a good few hundreds of yards. My awkwardness meter is hitting the roof, but I can’t think of anything good to say at a time like this. After my patience meter also maxes out, I just spit out the first thing on my mind. “Hey, Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

Jeremy loses his staring contest with the ground, evidently, because his eyes gravitate to the sky, where the promise of rain later is evident in the earthy, wet air and the dull shadow cast by the clouds. “It’s a bar I like,” he says, and despite my sunken mood, the promise of whisky never fails to cheer me up a little.

“No midnight gunshots this time, though?” I ask in jest.

Jeremy seems to soften up, too, and he says, “Naw. Hope you’re not gonna be disappointed by that.”

“No, sir. I’ve had enough life or death experiences for a lifetime.”

To my relief, Jeremy eases up and smiles back at me. Just as soon as it happens, though, it’s gone as he stares at a petite brick building we’ve somehow managed to find. “Looks like we’re here,” he says, and he pushes the door open, the action punctuated by the sound of a ringing bell.

“Well, well,” comes a female voice, sultry and suggestive, “look who decided to drop in.”

Despite all that’s happened recently, I find myself unprepared when I come face to face with the glinting hoop earrings, chestnut hair, and propped-up designer sunglasses of (who I would come to know of as) one Chloe Valentine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile! I know I shouldn't say this, but I've just sorta been winging it as I go with this story. Compliments, criticisms, and advice are always welcomed!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Please let me know if you want me to continue this story. Any ideas would be much appreciated. I'm open to any inspiration I may find...


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